Chapter five.
1119 Words
“Call an ambulance,” Declan said, still holding onto Victoria as she lay limp against him after inhaling too much smoke.
Mrs Whitmore was already on the phone.
Elysia.
Elysia was still inside.
For a second, everything else blurred.
Declan’s chest tightened as he looked toward the burning house. He hadn’t gotten to her. He had been focused on Victoria first—she was pregnant, she had collapsed halfway out, she couldn’t even stand on her own.
That had been his priority.
But now—
“Where is Elysia?” he asked sharply.
His voice cut through the noise as his eyes swept the scene again.
The servants were already outside. The staff too. Everyone he could account for was standing at a distance, some coughing, some crying, all safe.
So where was she?
He turned slightly, scanning the house again, as if she might suddenly appear at one of the doors.
Nothing.
The sound of sirens grew louder in the distance, closing in fast.
Declan’s grip on Victoria shifted slightly as she stirred weakly against him, still unconscious but breathing.
He looked down at her for a brief second.
Then back at the house.
How the hell did a fire suddenly break out in the house?
That was something he intended to find out later. Right now, he needed to know his wife was safe.
Wife…
Why did calling Elysia his wife sound so right?
Maybe it was because they had been married for five years, even if only in name. Maybe it was because she had been there all along, quietly existing in the background of his life, until his mind had simply accepted her as part of the house itself.
As if she had always belonged there.
The thought unsettled him more than he wanted to admit.
The sound of sirens pulled him back sharply.
The ambulance arrived first, followed closely by a fire truck, its lights flashing against the smoke-filled night.
Men in uniform rushed out immediately, shouting instructions, pulling equipment, assessing the spreading fire. The house was already being consumed in sections, orange light breaking through windows as the structure groaned under the heat.
Declan stood still for a second, eyes locked on the entrance.
Then understanding hit him properly.
His wife was not outside.
His grip tightened unconsciously around Victoria for a moment before he carefully passed her to one of the paramedics who rushed forward.
“She inhaled too much smoke,” he said quickly. “She collapsed outside. Take her.”
But even as he spoke, his attention had already shifted back to the house.
“Sir, you need to move back,” one of the firefighters called out as they prepared their entry.
Declan didn’t move.
His eyes stayed fixed on the entrance.
The word wife landed differently in his mind this time, heavier than it should have.
He stepped forward before anyone could stop him.
A firefighter immediately moved in front of him. “You can’t go in there.”
“That’s my wife,” Declan said, his voice low, tight.
The words didn’t feel strange anymore.
They felt absolute.
A hand grabbed his arm, pulling him back as more firefighters moved into position.
“Move him back!” someone shouted.
Declan resisted for a second, eyes locked on the burning doorway as heat and smoke poured outward.
Then he stopped fighting.
Not because he accepted it.
But because he realized forcing his way in would only slow them down.
His jaw tightened as he stood there, restrained, every muscle rigid as he watched the house burn.
The firefighters disappeared into the burning house one after another, their figures swallowed by smoke and heat almost instantly.
Declan stood frozen where they had forced him back, his eyes fixed on the entrance as if staring hard enough would somehow change what was happening inside.
Around him, voices overlapped.
Paramedics speaking.
Servants crying.
The sound of rushing water hitting flames.
But everything felt distant—Muted.
Like his mind had stopped processing anything except the sight of the fire tearing through the house.
Victoria had regained consciousness at some point. One of the paramedics was checking her while Mrs Whitmore stood nearby in tears, trembling hands pressed against her mouth.
No one spoke to Declan—No one dared to.
Minutes stretched painfully.
Then movement near the entrance caught his attention.
Two firefighters emerged from the smoke carrying a body.
Declan’s heartbeat stopped.
The body was badly burned, almost unrecognizable beneath the blackened skin and torn fabric.
For a moment, nobody moved.
Then one of the servants let out a horrified scream.
“No…” Declan heard himself say.
The word came out quietly at first, almost like his mind rejected what his eyes were seeing.
The firefighters carefully lowered the body onto the ground.
Declan walked forward slowly.
Everything inside him felt numb.
“No,” he repeated again, this time sharper.
One of the firefighters started saying something to him, but he couldn’t hear it properly over the violent pounding in his chest.
His eyes stayed fixed on the body.
Burned and lifeless.
His stomach twisted so violently he almost staggered.
That wasn’t possible. It couldn’t be.
That wasn't Elysia, that couldn't be Elysia.
A strange sound escaped him before he even realized it had come from him. Half breath, half disbelief.
“No… that’s not her.”
But the words lacked certainty now.
His chest tightened painfully as memories he hadn’t thought about in years crashed into him all at once.
Elysia laughing quietly during their first year of marriage. Elysia waiting for him at the dining table even when he came home late.
Elysia following him around with that stubborn hope in her eyes no matter how cold he had been to her.
His wife.
The realization hit harder now than it ever had before.
His wife.
And suddenly the thought of never seeing her again felt unbearable.
Declan dropped to his knees beside the body before anyone could stop him.
His hands trembled violently as he reached toward the burned figure, then stopped halfway like he was afraid touching it would make everything real.
“She can’t be dead,” he said hoarsely, shaking his head. “No… no, she can’t…”
For the first time in their five years of marriage, Declan looked completely shattered.
One of the firefighters exchanged a hesitant glance with another before stepping forward carefully.
“Sir…”
Declan didn’t respond.
His eyes were still fixed on the burned body in front of him.
“The back door was open when we got inside.” The firefighter said slowly. “And… we only found one body in the house.”
- Writer
